


Four for a boy

by oceantears



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John Watson, First Meetings, Fluff, Harmless Character Injury, High School, John hits Sherlock with multiple doors, Jokes, M/M, No case solving, One Shot, Rugby Captain John Watson (mentioned), Sarcasm, doors, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:55:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantears/pseuds/oceantears
Summary: Somehow, John manages to hit a beautiful boy in the face. With a door. Unfortunately, this happens more than just once.





	Four for a boy

**Author's Note:**

> Written by me.  
> A new fanfiction! A relatively long oneshot, that I've already posted on Fanfiktion.de and just translated. English is not my first language, so please tell me where I made mistakes!  
> This is kind of silly and random, but I actually really like this piece so comments and kudos would be incredibly kind and greatly appreciated! :)  
> Enjoy!

John hurried, taking two steps at once. Damn, damn, damn, he was late _again_. Only because he just _had_ to promise Molly to explain this stupid chemistry-exercise to her - an exercise he himself didn’t understand. John cursed quietly. He really couldn’t allow himself to be late for the history lesson again, it was definitely not his best subject, and he had already been late too often this month. John glanced quickly at his watch, and picked up speed once again. He still had two minutes left, and by now he only needed to sprint through the door at the end of the stairs and then run to his classroom, which meant that he could still make it in time with a bit of luck. John took three steps at one go and thanked all gods for the fact that he had been a rugby-player for a long time and was therefore in a good shape, otherwise he would have certainly been late.

He nearly ran to the big door at the end of the corridor, pushing it open forcefully with the hand that wasn’t holding his books. The door opened wide and crashed against the wall – or at least it was supposed to do so. Instead a dull bang was heard, followed by a small but pained groan. _Shit._ John hurried around the corner, praying that his fear of what had just happened wouldn’t come true. But of course, his hopes were disappointed.  
On the floor sat a boy, who couldn’t be much younger than John himself, his books spilled on the ground all around him, holding his head. John hurriedly kneeled down beside him and started to collect the books, while muttering a row of apologies. “I’m so terribly sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry . . . oh god, I’m really sorry, I should have looked where I was going, I didn’t think that anybody would stand behind the fucking door, I’m really, really sorry . . .”

John abruptly stopped stammering pointless excuses when he heard the boy let out a small laugh. “It’s alright. At least I have an excuse to miss class now. I didn’t want to go anyways.” John looked up from the books, surprised and still feeling guilty. And now, he saw the boy’s face for the first time.  
And _damn,_ now John felt even worse for hitting him in the face with a fucking door. The other boys’ face was, even while sporting a massive bruise around his eye (which was most likely to be from a heavy door), absolutely _gorgeous_. John let his gaze trail down the strangers’ body for a moment, allowing himself to take it all in. He gulped. The teen he had so violently knocked off his feet was terribly attractive, which didn’t really help John in this awkward situation. His cheekbones were unbelievably high, his grey eyes shone while he spoke, asking John a question he didn’t understand at all, because all of his senses were too busy taking in the tip of a pink tongue that poked out between the strangers’ lips, wetting them, as he spoke. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” John asked, tearing his stare away from the boy’s tongue, only to look in equally capturing eyes. _Keep it together, Watson, this isn’t the first time you see a handsome boy_ , he scolded himself. The taller boy, still sitting on the floor, grinned for a short moment, and asked his question again: “Well, _I_ have a reason to miss class now, because you hit me with that door, but I believe that you do not have one, do you? You seemed to be in a bit of a rush, and the lesson has started three minutes ago, so if you want to attend, I’d say you should hurry.” _”Shit!”_ John jumped up, took his bag and began to run again, turning his head to look at the other boy as he did so. “I am really, really sorry I promise to make it up to you somehow!” And with these words John turned his head away from the taller boy, and picked up speed. He would apologize to the handsome boy another time, when he wasn’t in such a hurry. Now his only goal was to get to class as fast as possible and to clear his head from all the images of these beautiful, gray eyes and the tip of a pink tongue. John sighed to himself. He had failed at one of these goals already.

 

It was late and John was still outside, wandering through the school grounds, tired and sore after an exhausting rugby practice. His practice started at nine and ended at half past ten, which, admittedly, wasn’t even _that_ late, but when one still had to prepare a presentation, which was due the next day, even half past ten was way too late. John didn’t know why he hadn’t prepared it earlier, but it didn’t matter now. He just had to hurry up, get out of the school – he always made his way back home through the empty school after rugby training because it was just shorter that the other way – and then hurry home to begin _and hopefully finish_ his presentation. After all it wasn’t possible to hold one without being prepared at all, as he had learned two years prior.  
So the blonde pushed open the schools’ heavy entrance door, lost in thought and looking down. But his head jerked up and he flinched violently, when he heard a loud bang and a flood of angry curses. _Oh for the love of god, please don’t tell me that I knocked someone over again. . ._ But John’s silent plea was not being heard.

As he went around the corner, he saw a person sitting on the floor, just like two days ago. And, John should be damned; it was the boy with the beautiful eyes, cursing him. _Again._ “For god’s sake, why would you push that door open like a mad-” The angry insults of the boy ended abruptly, when he looked up and stared right into John’s face. For a moment he just looked at him, mouth slightly open and eyes glaring. John thought that something like panic flashed over the brunettes face for a second, but then his expression went back to neutral and he closed his mouth. Even if just for a second. “Tell me, do you want to keep doing that? This is the _second time_ in three days you knock me over with a door.” He raised his eyebrows teasingly; a sarcastic smile around his mouth, and John didn’t know why all of the air in the school suddenly seemed to have disappeared. He took a few fast breaths, trying to act as if he _hadn’t_ just forgotten to breathe because of a damn _smile_ , but the huge grin on the other boys face showed him, that he had definitely noticed John’s short moment of breathlessness. “Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, I didn’t know that somebody stood behind that door. . .” A little bit embarrassed, John stopped talking, and scratched his neck. Of course the other boy already knew that John hadn’t seen him, he had knocked him over after all, but what were you supposed to say to the attractive boy you’ve already punched twice with a door? “I’ll be more careful next time.” The blonde added, and now it was his turn to smile – albeit a little awkwardly. The other boy just snorted and got up, but he did respond to John’s apology with rolling his eyes. “In about three days we will be in the same situation once again.” He shrugged, “even though statistically it’s more likely that I will hit you for a change.” He looked intensely at John, nearly scanning him all over, then he looked the blonde in the eyes again: “However, I’d have to try really hard to push the door open with enough force to make _you_ land on the floor.” John gave a short laugh, and tried to hide the blush that had spread over his neck. “Well, you’d probably only have to choose the right door. This one would probably be perfect.” He pointed at the heavy wooden door he had thrown open just a few minutes prior, but the taller one shook his head. “No, I would need a certain amount of strength to make this door swing hard enough, and since I’m rarely angry enough to excuse that, it’s more likely that you nearly kill me once more – if we meet again – than the other way round.” This time John had to laugh louder and he smiled at the other boy. “You’ve got a pretty great humour.” _And fascinating eyes, beautiful lips and goddamn impossible cheekbones_ he added silently, but only voiced the commentary about the humour. After all, he still wanted to see more of the other boy, and therefore it would be pretty contra productive to scare him away with stupid compliments.

But apparently John didn’t even need to talk about amazing eyes, cheekbones and incredibly soft looking hair, because the other boy already frowned. For a second he stared at John questioningly, then he nodded once, fast. “Right. I’ve got to go, until the next time.” And with that, the boy turned around and his coat, which John noticed only now, floated dramatically after him. John was able to shout a quick “goodbye”, and then the other boy was already gone, the door closing behind him with a loud _bang_. It nearly seemed as if it wanted to show the blonde that he just had made some fatal mistake – and he didn’t even know what mistake. _Congratulations, John Watson, you just made a fool out of yourself in front of a pretty attractive boy, and then you scared him off – but only after you just had to punch him with a door. Twice. In his face._ Sighing, John moved away from the door, and started to walk in the direction of his home. Well, now he could totally forget his presentation – he would ask himself for the whole evening what exactly he had done wrong or said that had caused the other boy to make such a dramatic escape. His teacher would have to endure a presentation a la ‘unprepared John Watson’ tomorrow.

 

”Fuck!” The shout echoed through the building, and a few angry “Shhhs” were heard, but John Watson could not have cared less that the Holy Silence of the library had just been destroyed. He was irrationally glad to hear that voice swearing again, because he had unsuccessfully looked for its owner the past few days, and had nearly lost his hope to find him. The only thing _not so good_ about the whole situation was, that John’s hand currently held a doorknob, and the voice had come from the other side of the door that belonged to the doorknob, the door, which had just hit something big and alive. Something – or rather, someone – who John had, in fact missed in the three days that had passed since their last encounter. And because of that he also went through the doorway that led out of the library and to the source of the voice with a big, wide grin, and looked smiling at the well-known scene in front of him.  
“Can I help you?” John asked, still not able to wipe that idiotic smile off of his face. The other boy flinched at this question, and his hand, which had just been picking up a book, stopped moving. Then he turned around forcefully – or at least as forcefully as possible when you are sitting on the floor – to face John, and snapped: “If you could just stop to knock me over all the time I wouldn’t even need your help.” John only grinned, kneeled next to the boy, and started to pick up a few of the heavy books the brunette obviously had wanted to bring back. “I’m not doing that on purpose-„ „No, you just like to hit me in the face _with doors._ Regularly.” The other boy interrupted sarcastically and John grinned. “Well, as I said, I really don’t do this on purpose, but you could say that it’s fate. And, well, I’m sorry”, he added, and looked at the books the other boy had dropped with a guilty expression, “I don’t want to make it a habit to indirectly throw all your things at the floor.” “But demolishing my face is okay, huh?”, the other muttered, but when John looked at him to make sure that he wasn’t angry, the other’s lips were definitely stretched into a smile. “As long as no lasting damage happens. . .”, he grinned, and the boy next to him stopped collecting his books for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and asked John: “What’s your name? So that I can tell the nurses in hospital who was the one to beat me up with a library door.” John smiled, and offered his hand for a handshake. “I’m John, John Watson. And you are? So that I can tell the nurses who definitely deserved getting hit in the face.“  
The other boy actually laughed at this, short and deep, and John was sure that all his inner organs had transformed into butterflies for a moment. Because this boy didn’t only have the most perfect eyes existing, unbelievably high cheekbones and a great sense of humour, no, he had an enchanting laugh as well! And John Watson was definitely doomed, because how on earth was it even possible to have a crush on somebody, after just three encounters with them, when all of them had lasted less than ten minutes?

The other boy interrupted John thoughts with answering his question: “I’m Sherlock Holmes. It’s nearly disappointing that I’ve been knocked over by someone with such a boring name.” He looked searchingly at John, who blushed against his will. Why did he feel so vulnerable when the other boy – Sherlock – looked at him so searchingly? But Sherlock only shrugged and turned away, apparently having found something in John’s red face that answered an unasked question. “And?” asked John, a desperate try to get rid of the strange feeling of being taken apart by grey eyes, haunting and strikingly beautiful, “what do you think, where will I hit you with a door the next time?” Sherlock snorted and frowned. “Is it you personal goal of hitting me as many times as possible before I get fed up with it and kill you myself?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows again, which _somehow_ emphasised the grey colour of his eyes even more and looked at John questioningly. He swallowed, which didn’t seem to escape Sherlock, because his gaze wandered to John’s throat, and _damn_ why did John find it so difficult to breathe once again? Maybe he should go and visit a doctor – or grab Sherlock by the collar and kiss him senseless, as his brain screamed at him quite loudly. John ignored this for the moment and answered Sherlock’s question instead – sadly still a bit breathless. “No, I’ve actually planned on stopping as soon as I’ve hit you four times.” Sherlock frowned confused, and opened his mouth to ask John _why_ , but John interrupted him. “Don’t you know this old rhyme? My mother used to sing it to me, and I think that it’s quite a good guideline concerning how often you should hit a person with a door.” John allowed himself to grin shortly at Sherlock’s lost expression, and then he told him the nursery rhyme. _“One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret, never to be told. Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, ten for a bird you must not miss.”_  
Sherlock shook his head, obviously amused over John’s knowledge of old nursery rhymes. “I don’t know if you noticed, but in this rhyme there isn’t a single door mentioned.” John laughed and nodded. “Yes, I know. But it says ‚Four for a boy‘, and since I’ve only knocked you off your feet three times. . .” He wriggled his eyebrows a bit, getting a laugh from Sherlock.”Well, let’s hope that the next time happens soon. I don’t think that I can stand getting constantly hit in the face for much longer.” John smiled a bit lopsided and began to collect Sherlock books again. His hands collected with Sherlock’s a few times, which made John shudder a bit every single time. So what if he had only met this boy three times? He definitely had a crush on him. 

 

John should have known it; after all he had just stepped out of a door. Nevertheless the surprised shout surprised him and he flinched. But this time a head with an untameable mass of curls appeared from behind the door before he was able to make his way around the door, through which he had just wanted to enter the small café. Sherlock frowned, but looked entirely relaxed as soon as he saw John’s face. “I knew it. You really wanted to see me, didn’t you?” Indeed only one day had passed since John’s last encounter with Sherlock, and even though the blonde had wished to see the other boy again, he hadn’t thought that it would happen so soon. But who was John to complain? Before he was able to say anything that even somehow resembled a full, functioning sentence – why did Sherlock’s eyes have to glisten in that distracting way in this light? – the brunette continued. “Well, when you’re here already you can help me to collect my things which you threw down so kindly.” “Hey!”, the smaller one protested. “It’s not my fault that you just drop everything as soon as you collide with a door.” Sherlock just gave a huff.

 

When John stepped around the door into the warmth of the café a slightly different sight than expected greeted him on the floor. “Sherlock, what _is_ this? “ John asked curiously. Instead of the expected books, case files were scattered across the floor. A photo had fallen out of one of them, showing an elderly woman with multiple stab wounds and a knife in her chest lying in a bathtub. Sherlock looked up from collecting a multitude of handwritten notes and glanced at the photo John had taken into his hands. “Oh” he said toneless, “these are case files from the FBI.” John raised his eyebrows. This didn’t explain anything. Why did Sherlock have case files? Especially those of murders? „Why exactly are you carrying case files from the FBI with you? Did you steal them or something like this?” Sherlock grinned lopsided. “No, I’m actually doing the FBI’s work here whenever they are too incompetent for it. Which is just about always.” John leaned towards Sherlock, intrigued. „And you also solve murder cases, like the one on the picture? The police believe you and you get the real murderer?”  
Sherlock wore an amused expression. “Yes, to all of your questions. I always find the real murderer, that’s why I am a Consulting Detective, I have-  
An impatient, high voice interrupted Sherlock suddenly, and John wanted to strangle the lady in front of them, for as soon as he had been interrupted, the small, honest smile and the excitement in Sherlock’s eyes had disappeared and been replaced by an indifferent look and a straight mouth without even the faintest trace of a smile. Still, John answered politely. “Yes, Miss?” The woman looked impatiently at him, frowning. “You’re in my way. I want to go through the door. “  
John blushed. Indeed, Sherlock and John were still sitting directly in front of the entrance of the small café, surrounded by case files and talking about murder. “Sorry”, he mumbled and stood up, taking the files with him. Sherlock rose as well, and the lady left with a look of distaste on her face. The little bell rang as the door closed, and John looked uncertainly at Sherlock. Should they go and sit at a table or part ways again? Strictly speaking John knew next to nothing about the other boy expect from his name and the fact that he liked to solve crimes in his free time, but John was eager to learn more. Maybe he would also find out what was responsible for that perfect face . . . But what, if Sherlock didn’t want to tell him more about himself anymore? But Sherlock made the decision as what to do next for them, for he turned around and went to a table near the back of the café. “Are you coming?”, he asked over his shoulders, looking at John impatiently. “Otherwise that door will hit you for a change, and I can tell you out of experience that it’s not such an enjoyable feeling.” 

John gave a laugh at this and followed Sherlock, case files still in his hand. Maybe it had been good after all to hit this incredible boy in front of him four times with a door. Because it had definitely paid off so far.


End file.
